The Bet
by Tielief
Summary: When Gambit is approached in a club by a mutant who makes him a bet, he's sure he can win. The stakes are raised when the girl reveals that she is the winnings. She loses, and he wins her...but in the end, who is the prize? M for lemon, GambitxOC. Review?
1. Twenty One

Disclaimer: I don't own Gambit, unfortunately. If I did…I'd take advantage of it. ;) The French is mostly self-explanatory; though '_combien_?' does mean 'how many?'

"Damn humans."

Cecilia cursed under her breath as the drunken men whistled appreciatively when she sauntered by. Adjusting her sunglasses, making sure her eyes were hidden, she flashed her ID at the bouncer, who nodded discreetly, letting her in.

Looking up through her sunglasses as she topped the three stairs leading to the bar, she blinked, immediately able to see through the nearby walls. Yeah, she spotted his energy, the man was there…

As soon as she crossed the threshold, her ears were assaulted with the sounds of techno and pop coming from the dance floor; presumably the latest tunes – Cecilia wrinkled her nose – but not necessarily the best.

It didn't matter – she wasn't here to dance anyway. She was looking for him – she'd heard rumors about him; stories of his prowess, his accomplishments, and his loyalties – and now she was here to figure him out.

Stalking forward with a feline grace, her heels virtually silent in the noise of the club, she strode forward with purpose, tugging down her already low-cut top. Her creamy skin was exposed, her shoulders bare.

Stopping over at the bar, she leaned against the counter; her stomach flipping in anticipation. "A sherry," she shouted over the noise to the bartender.

In a matter of seconds, she had thrown her head back and downed the alcohol, her mind fazing and inhibitions vanishing almost immediately. She relaxed, dropping her shoulder blades, and, slamming the empty shot glass on the counter, she turned her back to the bar, starting forward purposefully, a provocative sway in her hips as she made her way over to the card tables.

Pushing through the heady veil of smoke, away from the crowd of people on the dance floor, she waved the toxic fumes away, coughing. Smoke always gave her a headache. As she emerged from the overpowering mass of grey, a small crowd erupted in excited cheers as the sound of cards flipping into the air entered Cecilia's ears.

Cards appeared over a man's hat, and swiveled down to neatly enter his other hand, where he fanned them neatly. Cecilia could see him sprawl out in his chair from behind, relaxing.

"Show's over, yats," he announced languidly in a thick Cajun accent. "No more lagniappe tonight – we save that for Carnivale – hmm?" he winked at a curvaceous blonde who smiled encouragingly. "Some other time, cher. I'm dating the cards tonight," he drawled.

Cecilia decided this was her chance. Stepping out of the shadows, she stood, facing his relaxed form from across the table. He half-chuckled, almost to himself, tipping that all-too-familiar hat at the blonde.

"LeBeau," she said sharply. "Do you play?"

The man tugged the hat down over his eyes, swiveling his head towards her slowly, hiding his surprise at the fact that she knew his name. At the sight of her definitely womanly form, he burst out laughing. "Look, yats," he spoke to the two other men at the table. "There's a hayacall thinkin' she can play the booray." He sneered. "You're out of luck tonight, cher. May," his eyes ran up and down her body, darkening in lust, "ya've got nudding to bet, and ah've got no time…"

Cecilia braced her hands on her hips. "You seem to have time enough for your men here," she pointed out crisply.

He gave her a shit-eating grin. "May, they's worth ma time."

"I can give you a good time."

"Ah'll bet," he nodded appreciatively, "but ya seem to have nothin' on mah own tongue, sha."

"I can give you plenty to put on your tongue," she said smoothly, provocatively, leaning on her opposite foot to deliberately switch her hips.

The two men at the table with him laughed appreciatively, and one of them elbowed the man in the hat.

"Mah language," he laughed, throwing the cards down onto the table, rubbing his index finger and his thumb together in a sign for cash. "Mah tongue – da only one ah speak aside N'Awlins."

"You're right," she agreed. "I have no money to bet – so; as such, I bet myself."

Remy was overwhelmed. This lovely blonde-haired woman, whom he'd never seen before – was sexy beyond belief. Her soft curves begged to be held, to be touched, and he had to admit he was deeply impressed by her. And when she offered herself to him he almost had to stop his jaw from falling off at her nerve. It was quite an offer, he considered, cocking his head to one side, and the players beside him supported him, jeering at the woman who seemed to be so confident. Shooting the woman a speculative glance, he looked down at the table. If she was betting on bourre, he was in trouble. Sure, he might have been the best card player on either side of the Mississippi, but this – this – was a chance he simply wouldn't risk messing up.

Finally, he nodded. "Ah'll take this bet, yats," he smiled. "May, ah've changed mah mind." The two men let out a collective sigh. "Booray won't do. Ah'll test boo's worth in _vingt-et-un_."

"Blackjack?" they complained, whining as only men can, though standing up anyways, making room for the lady.

Smiling smugly, Remy offered the woman the chair beside him with a flourishing gesture. Coolly, she sat down, and Remy breathed a mental sigh of relief – now, he had only two problems – the sudden tightness of his pants and winning this card came. He was betting on risky dice – betting that he was a better player than she; luckier than she.

He flipped the cards back and forth between his hands a few times, mentally calling them up from the table.

"Mr. LeBeau," the woman offered her hand.

Remy held back. He might make love to this woman later, but he sure as hell wasn't going to touch her until he found out who she was.

"Why do ya wear those sunglasses, cher?"

The woman bent her head, shrugging the glasses off with one hand and slowly meeting his eyes. "I'm Cecilia," she said in a low voice, and Remy's eyes opened wide as he looked upon hers for the first time.

"Cecilia…?" he trailed off, wondering about her last name, but totally fixated on her silvery eyes. They shone like liquid diamonds, and now he understood why she hid them.

She was a mutant.

"Just Cecilia," the woman said coolly.

_Blind_, he thought. _Cecilia means blind in Latin…_his eye twitched, but only slightly. The irony was obvious, but he was not amused. They'd obviously wiped her memory. He didn't approve of such a cruel joke, yet she seemed to be able to see.

Remy quickly put on a charming smile. "_Enchanté_, Mademoiselle Just Cecilia; ah do believe ah have a game to play with ya."

Cecilia smirked as he shook her hand. "Deal," she commanded in a soft tone.

Remy dealt.

Perhaps it was her anticipation, or perhaps it was the thrill of the game, or perhaps it was the night – but whatever it was, they made the game seem to go by awfully fast. They were constantly going back and forth at each other, each desperate to win what they wanted – he wanted to win her…and she wanted to make it look as though she'd played a hard game, and had lost tragically.

That was the hardest part – making it look real. She started the game with ease, and as it went on and on she faked losing confidence; pretended she was having trouble. As it went on, a smug smile spread across his face, and he knew he had her beat when she began to look doubtfully at the cards and bite her lip.

It all seemed to pass rather quickly for her – the anticipation, she assumed. They traded phrases back and forth throughout the game, each loving the fast-paced thrill, she holding her own and he performing minor tricks when the chance arose.

" – Double down, cher – "

" – Stay – "

" – No, split a pair – "

" – Hit me – "

"Stand!"

It all went by rather quickly. When Cecilia figured the game was almost over, she pulled her eyebrows together, looking at him doubtfully through her silver irises. "I think I'm losing," she laughed doubtfully, almost nervously. At least the tremor in her voice was believable, she reflected.

"Sha, yah're going to be losin' more den dat tonight, if ah have mah way…" he drawled, smiling suggestively, looking her up and down again.

Cecilia smiled confidently. "That was the bet, was it not?"

Remy nodded sagely.

"Then I surrender. You're going to win either way, and I'm just dragging out my demise here by keeping on like this."

Remy visibly sighed. "Ah love a good competition, boo. May, that's alright. Ah'll just make you play a full game later…ah do lak mah _vingt-et-un_." He began tossing the well-worn cards into a violet satchel, which he tucked into his inner jacket pocket.

The French slipped off his lips fluidly, oh-so-naturally; beautifully so. She shivered. "Well then, I'm all yours, I suppose," she smiled seductively.

Remy stood up, pulling the beautiful, charming girl flush up against him so that she could feel his excitement; could feel him flush against her. She gasped as he whirled her up, and smiled in pleased surprise at his obvious erection.

"A tango before we go, _mon ami_," he requested, smiling, tossing his hat up into the air and winding his arm around her waist.

"_Combien?_" she asked, wondering how much time the two would spend here before they left, also proud to display her small knowledge of French.

His eyebrows shot up at the unexpected reply. "_Trois_," he pronounced, holding up three fingers. "After all, cher, three dances used to be scandalous…and scandalous we are."

Cecilia smiled sensually, plucking up her sunglasses and placing them back on her nose. Remy, however, swiped them away, tucking them into his jacket. "Coo, you have beautiful eyes…and now ya go turnin' rad on me! Sha, don't be troubled," he laughed as she blushed, embarrassed. "When ya've got it, flaunt it. And ya've got fine eyes."

"I just don't want anyone to notice," she said, looking down.

Remy laughed again, lighter this time, trying to make her feel less self-conscious. The girl was as confident and brazen as God himself, but damned if she felt imperfect because of something she couldn't help. Remy wouldn't have it. "Don't worry over them. They's much too busy gogo on the dance floor," he smiled. "Aside, the only one close enough to your eyes is me. And I don't care."

With a snap of his fingers, Remy cued the band to play a tango – he obviously frequented this bar. As the two stepped out the center of the dance floor, he took her hand, tapping his foot out behind him. Meeting his gaze sensually, Cecilia assumed the same position, their bodies pushed right up against each other, though they stood rigid; unmoving.

As the band struck the first note, he stepped back, leading her. They spun and whirled, each step complementing the other, never once tripping up or breaking their intense concentration on each other's eyes.

As her form was flung downwards, his hand supporting the small of her back, his other hand ran lightly over her chest, whispering across her breast to lightly caress her neck. His very touch was a light echo, a taunting, and a hint of things to come. As she let another small gasp escape her – she was very responsive, he noted – he thrust her back up, and they rounded the dance floor once more, clearing all occupants to the side.

As the violinist attacked the last note with a ferocious strike of his bow, Remy pulled Cecilia's hand directly up over her head, and, unblinking, kissed her straight on the mouth, his tongue expertly sliding over her pink lips before taking her lower lip in between his teeth; all in the span of three beats. Pulling away, quickly but reluctantly, he met her gaze, and in his eyes was a challenge.

Eyes filled with passion now, she met him step for step, bound for bound in the next dance, and she explored him now, becoming braver. Before, she had been brazen, but not brave…but now she touched him, running her hands over his solar plexus, realizing and grasping the power she knew she had over him. She relished it; breathing lightly into his ear and grinding against his hips when she had the chance, making him shudder lightly and close his eyes in need and want.

What had started out as a fling might have begun to end in the most memorable one-night-stand of Cecilia's life. She'd never met such a passionate, charming man as Remy – but nor had she met him before tonight.

Sure; she'd known of him before – after all, who hadn't heard of the great Gambit?

After their last passionate dance, Remy's eyes had darkened and Cecilia's heart was throbbing in her chest. "You win," Cecilia whispered as their foreheads pressed against each other gently.

"I claim my prize," he said softly, his Cajun accent fading as his tone softened.

He kissed her then, fully and deeply, thrusting his tongue hungrily into her mouth, and they warred there for a moment, he winding his fingers deep into her hair, and she melding herself to him, her arms traveling all over his back, up to hold his shoulders, and back down to squeeze his rear briefly. He groaned into her mouth, and she smiled against him. "Cher, ah don't think ah can take it if'n ya start that now," he warned.

"My place or yours?" she whispered against his mouth.

"Mine, _mon cheri_," he smirked.

"Then why are we wasting time here?" she giggled.

"May, I'm not sure, boo." He grinned. "_Laissez les bons temps rouler_!"

Cecilia almost purred. "Oh," she guaranteed, "there'll be more than good times rolling around in your bed tonight."

Remy's erection strained against his pants at her confident statement. He knew now that it had been far too long since he'd had a woman. "You're right, boo," he said hoarsely, "why are we wasting time here?"


	2. Early Surrender

Author's Notes: This is where the M rating comes into play. Just a warning.

They barely made it through the door before she attacked him, and he led her through the house, flipping lights on and off as they made their way through various rooms, neither one noticing the details or their surroundings, each totally focused on their partner; on the sensation.

He wrenched her shirt over her head, almost seeming to hesitantly leave her lips to detach the bothersome clothing, and he left her in her bra and capris.

Pausing to look at her while she breathed heavily, heart beating impatiently and her chest rising and falling in every intake of oxygen, his eyelids were shadowed by his dusty lashes as he slowly raised one hand to caress the outside of the lacy white underwear which hugged her form, almost seemed to melt into her skin. She stood, leaning up against the wall as his hand whispered across the cup of her bra, and he could almost feel the warm skin radiating through the skimpy piece of fabric. He could almost feel her warmth, her brilliant light – he could almost feel her burning him, as though she was the brightest of suns.

He could see her, shining; though he, instantly blinded by her beauty, retreated into his shadowy recesses, retreated into his lonesome night; where he could see, but was empty. Robbed of her light, he was alone…

His eyelids fluttered down as he swiftly undid the front clasp of her bra, sliding the small white straps off of her shoulders, exquisitely slowly in contrast to the original removal, watching as he raised anxious goose bumps on her skin with his contact. Her arms traveled up over her head, hands joining high on the wall, and he, seizing a golden opportunity, took one hand and restrained her limbs there, wanting her totally submissive beneath his touch. He wanted to watch her reactions, her responses, to his kiss, to his touch.

This; what had started out as a fling, was quickly becoming much more to him than a one-night-stand. For once, he actually cared about his partner's satisfaction instead of just requesting a quick release. This girl – this silver-eyed 'Just Cecilia' – she intrigued him.

Her utter confidence, while a brilliant mask, was no match for Gambit's ability to see the quickly revealed emotions which lay below her surface – a subtle insecurity; a dissatisfaction with herself and her eyes. He wanted to please her; to give her assurance in herself and her abilities.

Though she tried to hide it with her sensual bravado, he suspected that she was just an experienced virgin. He would show her the arts of the bedroom – the arts of the bed; the way no man would ever teach her again.

Deserting her held-aloft hands, he bent down to study her pink areoles, carefully rubbing them into tight peaks. As her eyelids fluttered closed, relaxing to his intimate ministrations, he pinched her nipple, and she took in a sharp breath of surprise, but he quickly replaced his hand with his mouth, gently but persistently suckling the round globe. While his mouth attended to one, his hand repeated his ministrations on the other, leaving her gasping and sighing contentedly under his touch.

She twined her fingers through his hair, pulling him closer and tugging on his curly, hazelnut locks, jerking and caressing them in time to her breath – which thoroughly depended on his touch.

He deserted her nipple, head pulling away from her hands, only to trail feather-light kisses up her collarbone to that small hollow directly behind her ear. He kissed that hollow, his tongue snaking out, and her chest rose in a small breath. She let out a small cry in slight pain as he insistently tugged on her earlobe, flicking it between his teeth with his tongue. "Cher, I might hurt you, but you know I'll please you in the end." As if fulfilling his promise, his hand snaked up to hold her breast in his hand, to cup it lightly. His other hand snuck down to her waist line.

Knowing that imagination was the driving force of the human body, he looked down to navigate his way around her pants while whispering in her ear. "Imagine if I could touch you like no other man has before. Imagine if I could please you beyond your greatest imaginings – if I could make you explode in pleasure beneath my hands." As he whispered, his voice softened, his Cajun accent almost disappearing in the haze of his lust.

"…If I could be your wildest dreams, sha…I know you've had dreams…can I touch you? Cecilia?" he asked as his hand slithered down to hold her core through her pants. "Can I touch you?" he repeated softly, less for her benefit than for dramatics. His other hand snuck behind her back, softly arching her body toward him, holding her flush up against his throbbing erection. God, he wanted her.

"Yes," she moaned, grinding against him, eyelids fluttering closed. "Yes – please."

Remy shuddered in desire as she thrust toward him. He gritted his teeth in forced restraint, and looked away, as though recognizing their surroundings for the first time.

"Cecilia," he said, voice low and husky, "I won't take you in a hallway."

She nodded confidently, coming into her own now that she felt desired. "Where to?" she asked.

"That way," he jerked a hand vaguely toward a room on his right, not focused on where but ihow/i. How he was going to take her – how he was going to savor every inch of her. "I mean – well…" he took her arm, and pointed it in the direction he'd said. "That way, you see?"

"Thank you for remembering," she nodded acquiescingly, granting him a small, beautiful smile. Reaching down, she played with the ties on her pants, expertly unbuttoning them and letting them fall to the ground. She stepped out from around him, turning her back to him to expose her lace-clad buttocks, and looked over her shoulder at him as she reached behind herself and squeezed her body through her underwear.

He stifled a groan. "Cecilia…" he trailed off, but she wasn't done.

Leaning up against the wall and facing him again, she ran her hands over her shoulders, cupping her breasts, and letting her hands trail downwards, toward her navel. She inched her feet apart, opening her hips wider, and let her fingers whisper over her underwear, rubbing her crotch. She threw her head back against the wall, reveling in her suggestive playacting. "Ohh," she moaned, letting her hand trail down between her legs, her index finger outlining the barely discernable crease of her nether lips through her panties. "Ooh, Remy," she closed her eyes, thrusting her chest forward. "Oh, please, Remy…" One hand whispered beneath her underwear.

With a growl, he strode toward her purposefully. Kissing her full on the mouth, roughly and passionately, pinning her against the wall once more. His hand slipped behind her to hitch her leg up around his waist, and his hand slid under her, caressing the bottom of her thigh and lightly touching her core, fingers pulling back and forth from that small patch of skin between her ass and her core to that bead of pleasure, throbbing in need at the center of her body. She arched back at his sensitive touch, thrusting her chest forward against his.

Groaning, he wrenched his shirt off, and she smirked, running her hand over his chest in appreciation. "Mm," she murmured. "You're so good…I bet you're even better in bed."

He threw his head back as her hand reached down to squeeze him, and his head swam, visions of her screaming his name beneath him running through his mind. As she shivered while he fingered her through her underwear, he quickly stopped, picking her up bride-style to carry her to his bed.

"Cher," he breathed softly as he laid her down, "this is where ah'll have you."

She shuddered at the feel of the silk sheets on her skin, arching her back and stretching. She reached out in the air, seeing and feeling his energy, but unable to tell exactly where…ah, there he was. She caressed his waist, her fingers dancing across his sensitive skin, and he flinched, a kind laugh bubbling up from his throat.

Nervous all the same, she shied away, but he caught her hands in his own before she could withdraw completely. "Boo," he said, and she could hear the smile in his voice, his lilting Cajun accent seducing her, "ah'm ticklish there." He laid over her, hugging her against him.

She smiled to herself, feeling more confident now. His warm chest was like a furnace on her skin. She could only imagine how hot he'd make her feel later on.

"And while ah appreciate you making me laugh so, cher, it is rather…distracting." With that, he kissed her firmly, caressing her waist with only his fingertips.

She pulled away, her hands coming up between them, and covered his mouth with the pads of her fingers. Thinking it a cue, he kissed him, groaning softly. "Boo, your skin is so soft."

She shook her head. "No," she whispered, "no."

He blinked at her. "But it is, cher."

"I know, but…no. This isn't fair." She frowned, feeling uncomfortable and exposed.

He swallowed, wondering if he was about to regret this. "Alright, cher. What can ah do to make you comfortable, then?"

"Take off your pants," she whispered, not suggestively at all, but the innocent way the words fell off her tongue nearly made him moan aloud.

Her response completely floored him, and his jaw dropped at her forward request. "Are you sure, boo?" he asked, "because, may, I think the result may not be very fair, either."

"What makes you say that?" she asked, her hands caressing his jaw, feeling the hollows beneath his eyes.

"Uh," he breathed, "Ah'm not wearing a stitch underneath," he admitted.

She shrugged, grinning in amusement toward what she hoped was his face. "I don't mind," she smiled, "after all, it'll be that way eventually, won't it?"

Remy had to admit to himself that there was some logic behind her sentiment. "Of course, cher," he nodded. "Your wish is my command."

She waited, listening to the shuffle of the leather against his skin. "Were those customized for you?" she asked, kissing his shoulder.

He nodded. "I mean – yes," he said, not sure of how much she could sense.

"Just curious," she murmured, and made a noise of surprise in her throat when she felt him against her.

He laughed softly. "Surprised, cher?" he asked her. "Would that be good or bad?"

She blinked, floored, and a little bit frightened. "Both," she admitted.

"Don't be," he soothed her, "it'll be alright. Ah'll please you, ah promise."

She nodded, trusting him. "If you say so," she said, nervous butterflies doing acrobatics in her chest.

He could sense her fear. "Cher," he soothed her, lightly combing his fingers through her hair, "you pretend to be this seductive goddess – no, you are a seductive goddess – but underneath I see that you're just as nervous as I am."

She blinked in surprise, tilting her head back as if she could see him. "You?" she asked. "Nervous? You don't look it," she shook her head, disbelieving him.

He shrugged. "Ah, but ah am. Ah am wanting this to be perfect for you, boo. Ah am wanting to please you and not wanting to push you too far."

She nodded, believing him. "Alright," she said.

"Now," he murmured, kissing her forehead, "tell me what you're nervous about, boo."

She shrugged, tilting her head away from him. "Well…honestly, I'm nervous that…" She proceeded to mumble something under her breath.

He gaped at her, his suspicions confirmed. This woman beneath him was definitely nothing more than an experienced virgin. "You don't think it'll fit?" he repeated.

She shook her head enthusiastically.

He smiled down at her, feeling an odd sense of protectiveness for this woman, this Cecilia. "Oh, cher, I wouldn't worry about that. You'll see, there are ways."

"But – "

He silenced her with a kiss, and his hands began roaming down her body, exploring her navel, and a triangle of fine blonde hairs nestled below her hips greeted his fingertips as he slipped them beneath her underwear. He felt her tense beneath him, and he made his way back up to her face, kissing her cheeks. "Now, now, cher," he murmured, "you made a bet, and you've made your bed – now you must lie in it."

She nodded silently.

"I promise I won't hurt you," he assured her. "Just relax."

"But," she protested, "how can you not hurt me? I haven't done this before; and I know what happens the first time." A note of panic had risen in her voice.

"I'm not going to hurt you," he repeated, kissing her gently. "I promise I won't hurt you."

He licked her bottom lip, massaging her bare shoulders. "It'll be alright, you'll see. Just trust me, cher."

He could feel her reluctance, but she relaxed beneath him all the same. He kissed both of her nipples before sliding back down her body, and he kissed her inner thighs. She held her breath in nervous anticipation, not knowing what he'd do next, but he felt how she'd tensed, and he smiled against her skin. "Just breathe, Cecilia. Give in to your desires. Trust me," he repeated.

And as he pulled her panties to one side and slipped his index finger inside her, she melted. Unfamiliar sensations gathered there in her stomach, like the butterflies in her abdomen, but lower…and these definitely weren't butterflies. He pulled out his finger slowly, and tasted how wet she was, sighing softly to himself in satisfaction. "Cher, you're so hot," he murmured contentedly, "and you taste so good."

She sighed, shuddering at the thought of what he was doing. She only wished that she could see him.

"You were so responsive earlier," he reminded her. "Tell me what you're feeling? Please?"

For a moment she thought that would be her undoing; she was overcome with shyness and desire at the same time. As he peeled her underwear down her legs, she shivered, but knew that she was just as exposed as he was now.

"I feel…shy," she said after a moment. "And inexperienced."

He nodded in understanding. "You're beautiful. Tell me, cher, what do you feel when I do this?" he asked, slipping two fingers inside her and beginning to massage her clit with his thumb.

She smothered her cry of pleasure by covering her mouth with her hand, and he immediately pulled away. "Now, now," he corrected her, laying her hands above her head. "If that's what you're feeling, I want to hear it," he whispered, gently biting her nipple. She mewled softly in the back of her throat.

His two fingers found their way inside her liquid heat once more, and he began thrusting slowly this time, finding a rhythm as he simultaneously stroked her clit. She gasped the first time, and moaned softly as he continued, spreading her legs for him, slowly losing her inhibitions. As he began moving faster and faster, the gyrating of his fingers coming faster now, she began to lose herself, unsure of where she ended or where he began.

"How do you feel now?" he asked her again, and she could only moan loudly in answer to him. She closed her eyes, and felt him rise over her, positioning himself between her legs just as she exploded with pleasure.

She shuddered with the beauty of her first orgasm, writhing and riding it out. She contracted around him, tightening over and over again, throbbing with fulfilled desire. As it subsided, she felt a slight pinch, but brushed it away, too euphoric now.

He continued to thrust inside her, and as his hands came up to cup her cheeks as he kissed her again, she became confused; what was he using to - ? Oh, she thought to herself, realizing the truth, and kissed him back passionately.

She gave herself over to him then, now trusting him. He'd been right, after all; he hadn't hurt her at all.

Remy closed his eyes; she was so tight, and she felt so good. He buried himself in her over and over again, breathing heavily now. He'd given her pleasure, and now it was his turn. He'd never felt so close to any woman he'd had before Cecilia, and he was truly amazed that such an inexperienced woman could surprise him the way Cecilia had.

"What," he asked, "are you feeling now?" It was a strain for him to speak; it'd been too long since he'd slept with a woman, and he was exercising all his control now, not wanting this to be over too soon.

"Remy," she cried out, "please!" She didn't know what she was asking for, or what he would give, but she knew she needed something; it was just beyond her grasp. Why couldn't she put a name to it, what was it?

But Remy knew what she wanted, and he wanted it too, and so he moved faster, kissing her quickly and thrusting into her, deeper, faster, and harder.

Moments later, it seemed that the stars themselves had exploded behind the couple's eyes, and Remy collapsed beside Cecilia, having spent himself inside her.

Cecilia turned to him, rolling onto her side, her heart pounding in her chest. "Remy, I want to tell you something," she whispered.

He caressed her flushed cheeks, knowing that he would have listened to anything she'd wanted to tell him, anything in the world. "Yes?" he asked.

She was silent for a moment, as though she were nervous, or hesitant, though after what they'd just done, he didn't see any reason for her to be shy. "Remy…for a moment…just a moment…it was like I could see."

He gathered her in his arms, a sense of care overcoming him. "Well, cher," he murmured in her ear, kissing her forehead. "It seems that you may have won our bet, after all."


End file.
